


A Million Fraying Threads

by forestofbabel



Series: Ley Lines [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofbabel/pseuds/forestofbabel
Summary: There was a reason Derek kept mostly to himself now and separate from Scott’s pack.  Every time he had reached out to those who might be in need in the past had ended horribly.  Still, it didn’t stop him from worrying.Stiles didn’t do things in halves.  He’d been popping up hungover in the preserve so often since his dad died, it was practically tradition at this point.The fact he wasn’t still in the woods at least meant he made it home this time.  For however much longer that was his home.





	A Million Fraying Threads

**Author's Note:**

> The Third and Final installment of the Ley Lines series. [Check out my creator website to learn more about me, this fic, and why it's taking so long to reach ao3. ](https://sites.google.com/view/forestofbabel/)
> 
> Thank you all for reading!
> 
>  

Derek paused in his morning run, early summer heat already stifling the air.  There was a scent among the blend of forest spices that he hadn’t caught in some time.  A tinge of magic lingered in the clearing, different from the normal ebb and flow of the town.  It was soured with drink and the unmistakable film of bitterness and anxiety Stiles always came to town with.  The scent faded strangely with the rest of the woods, but Derek could trace it back clearly from the direction of The Jungle.

He sighed.

Whatever Stiles was doing, Derek understood.  Derek hadn’t exactly dealt with grief in a healthy manner either.  The whole town mourned their old Sheriff, and Stiles came and went as he pleased.  He was likely gone for good, soon.  The For-Sale sign outside his old house hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Derek thought about seeking Stiles out while he was still in town.  Check up on him.  It was stupid.  There was a reason Derek kept mostly to himself now and separate from Scott’s pack.  Every time he had reached out to those who might be in need in the past had ended horribly.  Still, it didn’t stop him from worrying. 

Stiles didn’t do things in halves.  He’d been popping up hungover in the preserve so often since his dad died, it was practically tradition at this point.

The fact he wasn’t still in the woods at least meant he made it home this time.  For however much longer that was his home.

 

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One missing person in Beacon Hills was an incident. Two… could just be a coincidence. But Derek knew Beacon Hills too well. He was willing to jump straight to it being a real cause for concern.

Derek held it in until he got home and put away his groceries. He normally went for a run in the morning. He had, in fact, gone on a run that morning. But that itch wouldn’t leave his shoulder blades. The knowledge there was nothing he could do, nowhere he was needed. No place to run away to, but still the need to run.

His feet pounded against the packed earth, the crunch of leaves and twigs swallowing his senses. Stone and branches made his stride uneven, not following a set path in the woods. He dodged low hanging trees and jumped over small brooks that cut through the preserve that led to the lake. He let his world shrink into nothing but the trees. And for a moment, he felt something akin to peace.

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he stopped abruptly. His world had been the trees, but he ran into a clearing. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, that he ran here subconsciously. His old family land was almost empty. The only thing that remained of the house was a pile of rubble the state never bothered to clear away after demolition. Years later and it was coated over with moss. They’ll have made a hill in the forest if enough time passes.

Derek stood there, unsure of the passage of time, and remembered what the land used to look like. His old house, the home he had a hand in burning to the ground.

There was a change in the air, like an oncoming storm. Derek looked up, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  The more he concentrated on the shift in the air, the less sure he was of its origin. Foreign and pulsing, the was magic going on in the woods was complex and startling. Then he caught another scent. His feet were moving before Stiles’ name made its way to the front of his mind. 

 

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Stiles, even at his lowest, was an over-talkative mess about issues that needed attention. Derek wouldn’t push. Whatever had happened, it was personal. Private.

 

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Malia walked around the clearing, sniffing the air as she cooled down. He waited. The brightest rays of sun were cresting over the tree tops when she came to sit next to him. “There’s nothing to say,” she said, voice heavy with past regrets. Dusk was always the time of day Malia came most alive, the shift as day turned into night, but today she seemed to sink with the setting sun. Her shoulders sagged, her eyes dimmed, even the flush of her cheeks from their run made her look more haggard than alive. “I’ve exhausted every issue. I’m not even sure if I _am_ mad anymore, but everything just lingers and – and festers and it makes me sick to my stomach. I just wish I could move on.” 

Derek nodded. Malia and Stiles both left that relationship worse than when they started… every time they started. They had broken up for the third time a couple of years ago and it seemed to have stuck. He guessed it helped that Stiles wasn’t coming home anymore after the Sheriff died – they couldn’t get back together if they never saw each other. But at the same time, Derek knew Stiles needed a support system and he had cut himself off. It was hard, wanting to take care of both sides of the breakup.

“I don’t know if those feelings every truly go away,” Derek said, memories of Kate and Jennifer intruding at the back of his mind like an afterimage seared into his retinas. It turned his stomach and he clenched his fist too tightly for a moment before breathing deep and finding a way to push it out. “It’s your past. It makes up who you are.”

 

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End file.
